Take My Hand
by Yemam2422
Summary: Beth and Rio reach a truce. Rio moves his hand under Beth's, sliding his fingers between hers. He's holding her hand. Plainly and simply. But it feels romantic and erotic, and he's never enjoyed holding anyone's hand as much as this. Never.


Rio is leaning against a tree, hidden in the shadows, as he watches Beth sit at the park bench where they've agreed to meet. Their last conversation had been tense – negotiating terms for the pills – and a small part of him thought she might carry her arrogance into a no show. He watches her for a minute, sitting ramrod straight as if bracing for danger, ready for fight or flight.

Beth's posture stiffens even more when she notices him walking toward her. He sits next to her. The park is empty, the cover of night making their flimsy guise of sitting on opposite sides of a bench like strangers unnecessary.

"We can't keep doing this," he says.

"What's that?"

"If we're partners, then we're partners. But I need to know you're all in."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Why didn't you shoot me?"

"_What?_" that question gets her attention and she turns almost fully to face him.

"You could have killed me and you didn't. Why?"

Beth is so used to them speaking in their strange kind of code, hiding the meaning of their crimes, of their feelings, that her brain is struggling to connect to the appropriate synapses. And the answer to his question is so twisted and heavy with confusion and attraction and hope and shame that any honest reply dies on her lips.

"I…told you. I'm not a killer."

"Right, right."

Rio places his hand on her forearm. He hears her breath catch, but she doesn't pull away. The quiet sound floats to his ears, trips him back to that night in the bathroom. The last time he made her gasp. And moan. And whimper. But he's not filled with crazy, dirty thoughts like he sometimes finds himself around her. He's thinking about how beautiful she is, how much more he wants to know her.

It's a warm night so she's wearing just a sweater, her jacket and bag off to the side. He pushes up the sleeve, lightly running his fingers up and down the exposed skin mindlessly, but his intention is serious. Beth is artful in her avoidance of her problems. And right now she sees him as a problem. So he has to get into her space, make her a little uncomfortable, force her attention on him.

His fingers stop at her wrist before laying his hand on top of hers. Rio stays quiet, looking directly at Beth as she continues looking off into the distance as if watching for something. He moves his hand under hers, sliding his fingers between hers. He's holding her hand. Plainly and simply. But it feels romantic and erotic, and he's never enjoyed holding anyone's hand as much as this. Never.

Beth shifts in her seat a little and he rubs his thumb slowly back and forth keeping her in the moment. Beth finally lowers her gaze to their hands. She speaks first, asking a question.

"What would you do if you were legitimate?"

"What?"

"If life were normal, and you had a normal job, what would you do?"

"This is my normal."

Beth looks up at him and nods, shifting the slightest bit on the bench so their legs press together. The fact that she isn't insistent on an explanation makes Rio swallow hard.

"Do you like it?" She's asking basic questions but her words seem weightier than usual.

"I don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice."

He pauses because she's right, and he never really looked at his life in those terms.

"Fair enough," he finally responds. "I just focus on doing what I have to do for my family."

"Me too," she says, the powerful truth echoing through her.

He tugs her hand so that she looks up at him, meets his eyes.

"So we're the same then."

She doesn't look away, her blue eyes stay fixed on him. Finally, _finally_, she wraps her fingers tightly around his, a firm squeeze.

"We are."

Rio smiles, that slow crooked grin as if he's fighting it. It's always a privilege when she shows him the parts of her only he knows about. The strong parts of her, the vulnerable ones.

"You love being right, don't you?" she asks with a small laugh.

"I love it more than those eggs with hash browns on the inside. And I really fucking love those eggs," he says, with a smile.

Rio grips her hand tighter, raises their joined hands and presses his lips to the back of hers, softly, tenderly. They are in sync when it comes to the fire in the belly that drives them both. It's so clear.


End file.
